


Pillow Forts and Birthday Kisses

by ImagineBeatles



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles
Summary: For Paul’s fifteenth birthday, John decides Paul has to come over to celebrate his birthday together, just the two of them, and build a pillow fort.





	Pillow Forts and Birthday Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr

Paul sat giggling in their half-built pillow fort that had collapsed on top of them when they had tried to rearrange the mattress and pillows on which he was lying. John had stood up, grumbling curses, and had crawled his way out, and was now trying to fix it, looking very irritated indeed. To Paul, it was hilarious, but he knew better than to laugh freely, knowing his friend wouldn’t appreciate it and then it wouldn’t matter that it was Paul’s birthday. Or almost, that is.

John had picked him up early that morning, telling Paul to grab his sleeping stuff and his guitar and get his bike. Paul had done so without a second thought, only asking why John had so suddenly turned up at his door when they were cycling to John’s house together. As it happened, John had wanted to celebrate Paul’s fifteenth birthday together, just the two of them, without any other friends or family around to claim his attention. He was set on making this the best birthday Paul had ever had. Paul had only been able to smile like a fool at that, glad to have found a friend like John.

They had played a little guitar together before they had quickly decided to build a pillow fort and reside there for the rest of their little sleepover. Mimi was gone for the weekend, so there wouldn’t be anyone to bother them and tell them to take their fort down. Paul wasn’t sure who had come up with the idea, but it was the best idea either he or John had had in a long time. Paul had gone around the house to collect all the pillows and bedsheets, while John had taken his mattress from his bed and tried to carry it downstairs and into the living room. It had been more easily said than done, the mattress being far to heavy and bulky for John to carry on his own, especially down the stairs, so Paul had quickly offered his help, which John had stubbornly refused, until he had nearly slipped and fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Paul had only just managed to grab his arm and steady him, after which John had allowed Paul to help him, albeit reluctantly. Paul didn’t care. As long as John didn’t hurt himself, he didn’t care what John thought.

As John had carried the mattress the rest of the way into the living room, Paul had hurried back upstairs to grab some of the best LP’s from John’s impressive (and mostly stolen) record collection, taking all the ones he liked and running back downstairs to put them on while they would be building their fort. He also grabbed two bottles of coke from the fridge for them to enjoy, knowing they were going to need it. When he had stepped into the living room, John was already working on arranging the chairs, so they could span the sheets over them to create a tent that was about as large as almost half the living room, reaching from the telly to the couch, both of which stood on opposite ends of the room, and being as wide as the couch. It really was impressive and Paul had spent a good couple of seconds staring at it, before he had finally put on a record.

Now their pillow fort was almost done. They had stuffed all the pillows they had been able to find inside and had been rearranging those when one half of the fort had come crashing down on them. Paul had felt a little smug about it, having told John they ought to make sure the outside was done and steady before moving to the inside, but John had told him that was ridiculous and had vanished upstairs to get the Christmas lights from the attic. When he had come back down, they had hung it above their heads in the fort and laid the rest of it on the ground, before finalising the inside. As it happened, though, the lights had been too heavy, and soon one of the sheets had fallen down on top of them. Actually it was rather funny, but Paul could see John wasn’t in the mood for laughing just yet.

Slipping back inside the fort, Paul waited for John to lift up the sheet again, before he readjusted the lights and laid down a few heavy books on the ends of the sheets to keep them fixed to the ground. Soon after, the record was finished, leaving the room in silence, apart from the ruffling of the sheets and John’s incessant grumbling.

“John, put another one on, yeah?” Paul called from the fort as he grabbed a few clothespins and fastened the two sheets together from the inside.

“Any requests, Macca?” John called back, still sounding annoyed. Paul didn’t have to think twice about what he wanted to hear next. Grinning, he shuffled over to the entrance of their fort and stuck his head out through the opening between the sheets, meeting John’s eyes immediately.

“Elvis,” he said with a wink and John finally laughed as he nodded and grabbed one of his Elvis records. As soon as the low sexy voice of The King came through the speakers, Paul closed his eyes and took a moment to take it in, before he slid back into the fort and beckoned John to come with him. The latter quickly adjusted some last things to the fort, not wanting it to collapse on them again, before he slid in too. Paul took a seat on the mattress, his back leaning against the couch, as he grabbed their bottles of coke and handed one to John. The latter took it eagerly and took a large gulp of it immediately.

“You know what we should do?” John asked as he sat down next to Paul, eyeing him with a cheeky look in his eye, a look Paul didn’t always instantly like.

“What?” he asked, unsure what his friend had in mind.

“Have a beer.” Paul blinked up at John a few times, before he shook his head, stunned that his friend would suggest such a thing.

“We can’t drink! We’re not eighteen yet,” he objected, causing John to chuckle.

“So? Mimi’s not home. Besides, it’s your birthday, Paul! You’re not turning fifteen every day, you know.”

“ _Tomorrow_ is my birthday, John.”

“Yeah, whatever. Come on! You’re not scared are you?” John taunted and Paul blushed, but kept his eyes firmly focused on John’s, knowing he shouldn’t retaliate. John liked to taunt, but rarely meant it. He wasn’t going to drink. His dad would kill him.

“No one has to know. It’s only you and me. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I don’t know, John…” Paul tried, but John wasn’t even listening to him anymore. Instead, he snatched Paul’s half-drunk bottle from him and clambered back out of the fort, whistling a happy tune. Paul tried to reach for him and stop him, but John had already moved too far away from him, giving Paul not a choice but to give into his older friend. And Mimi thought _he_ was a bad influence on John! Sighing, he sat back against the couch and listened to the record that was playing as he waited.

When John crawled back inside the fort, he was carrying four bottles of beer - two in each hand - and was grinning from ear to ear. Paul grimaced back at him as he moved a little so his friend had more room to sit down. John did so with a groan and quickly unscrewed one of the bottles and handed it to him, giving him an encouraging wink. Paul eyed the bottle doubtfully.

“John, I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said and John scoffed at that.

“Life’s full of bad ideas, Paul. Come on, just have a sip. It is my duty as your irresponsible older friend to make sure you start drinking long before you’re eighteen. When I was your age, I had already been drunk multiple times. I turned out fine, didn’t I?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _fine_ …” Paul said, but he took the bottle anyway. Curiously, he raised it to his nose and sniffed at it, before quickly pulling it away as he grimaced at it. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’ll get used to it,” John told him as he opened a bottle for himself and placed the other two bottles down on a pillow beside him. He raised his bottle and gently bumped it against Paul’s for a toast, before taking a sip. Paul watched him before looking back at his own bottle. He took a deep breath, cursed himself for letting John talk him into this, and put the neck to his lips, taking a careful sip. It tasted bitter, but not as bad as Paul remembered from when he had accidentally taken a sip from his father’s beer when he had been ten. Still, he couldn’t say he liked it.

“And?” John asked, sounding particularly eager to hear Paul’s opinion on his number one drink. Paul glanced at him from the corner of his eye, before bursting out in laughter as he shook his head.

“It’s fucking disgusting,” he replied, and John’s face went sour at that. Annoyed, he took another sip from his own drink.

“You’ll get used to it. Finish it,” he ordered, and before Paul knew what he was doing, he had taken another sip. Still, the little twitch of John’s lips was worth it, so he decided to drink it all, liking the drink more and more with every careful sip he took. Bit by bit he felt himself loosen up and his cheeks heat up. When he finished his first and John offered him another one, he simply took it, eager to show John he wasn’t such a child as John always thought he was.

“Can I suggest something now?” Paul asked as he took his sip, liking the look of approval in John’s eyes and feeling rather smug. When John nodded, he grinned. “Let’s get us some popcorn.”  

              As John made them some popcorn, Paul decided to draw the curtains, making it as dark as possible in the room, to make their pillow fort even more magical. Truthfully, he hadn’t had this much fun building a fort since he had been nine years old and he had Michael had turned his entire bedroom in one huge pillow fort. Perhaps it was even more fun this time with John, even if he had managed to get him to drink two beers already. He liked this more playful side of his friend. He did start to feel the effects of the alcohol, however. He felt more confident and cheerful and found himself giggling at all of John’s stupid comments and even things that weren’t funny at all. The most troubling things was, however, that he found himself staring at his friend a little more often than he’d like, and he’d be more inclined to touch him. Paul didn’t like those feelings at all. They were too dangerous and better to be ignored. Even if he secretly didn’t really dislike it, either.

Suddenly, he heard a string of curses coming from the kitchen and Paul quickly, and rather awkwardly in his tipsy state, hurried over to the kitchen, where he found John staring down at the large pan in his hand with a pout on his lips. When Paul saw the black mass of popped corn in the pan, he burst out laughing and took it from his friend’s hands.

“What did you do to it?!” he asked, slurring his words a little, and John looked up at him with a dismayed look on his face and shrugged.

“It suddenly started smoking and when I lifted the lid, it had gone all black,” he explained, and Paul chuckled at that as he scraped the blackened popcorn into the trash and quickly scrubbed the pan clean before he poured in some oil.

“I’ll do it then, shall I?” he asked with a cheeky wink as he put the pan on the stove, and John nodded as he laid an arm around Paul’s shoulder, making the younger man blush at their sudden closeness, which he put down to the alcohol in his blood.

“What shall we do once we have that delicious popcorn, eh?” John asked, and Paul looked up at him with a grin as he put some of the un-popped popcorn in the pan and closed it off with the lid. “It’s your birthday, after all. Or almost birthday,” John added with a little smile, and Paul thought for a while.

“Put on the radio. Maybe there’s a comedy show on,” he said, and John nodded as he ruffled Paul’s hair, not paying attention to any of his friend’s objections. When Paul finally managed to pull John’s hand off his head, John walked over to the fridge and got them one more beer and some coke, before heading back to their fort to find something to listen to on the radio. Paul watched him go with a smile, jumping up in fright as the first of the popcorn popped.

            It was only around half-past eleven when the two boys finally grabbed the sheets from the guest bedroom so they had a blanket to sleep under. They hadn’t wanted to use those sheets, but neither had remembered they actually were going to need something to sleep under during the night as well when they had built their fort. They were now lying in their fort on John’s little mattress, top-and-tailing like they always did, as they talked to each other in hushed voices, giggling at the stupid jokes each other made.

Paul still had some popcorn in his hair, which had happened when John had started a popcorn fight in the middle of the comedy show they had been listening to. They hadn’t heard much more of show, but neither had cared, having had way too much fun hitting each other with pillows and popcorn, after which they had laid down and played some guitar together as John occasionally picked some popcorn out of Paul’s hair and ate it. Paul had tried to wave his hands away, but John had been persistent, so in the end, Paul had given up.

For dinner, Mimi had left John some leftovers, so Paul had warmed those up in the oven for them – not wanting John to burn that too. They had then watched some telly before playing some more and trying to write a song together and ending the evening with a few card games. John had stopped giving Paul beer after those last with the popcorn, and Paul was glad he had. He still felt a little tipsy, even if he had sobered up a little already, and he didn’t want to come home the next day to his real birthday party with a hangover, after all.

The music was still playing in the background, neither feeling like turning it off and actually wanting to listen to some music for a little while longer. They weren’t even that tired yet. If it had been up to John, they would have played another round of strip-poker – Paul really didn’t know why his friend loved that game so much, even without any girls around, but it had been funny, so he hadn’t complained – and held at least one last pillow fight. But Paul had wanted to be up on time that morning without feeling like crap, so he had given in to Paul with the condition they would still talk and listen to some music; the birthday party wasn’t over till John had said so. Paul hadn’t minded.

What he did mind was that John’s stinky feet kept hitting him in the face, on accident or purpose, Paul couldn’t be sure, but it had John giggling like crazy, which to Paul said enough. He wouldn’t have minded as much if John had been wearing socks, which he wasn’t.

“John! Get your fucking feet out of my face, you perv!” Paul exclaimed in disgust as he grabbed John’s ankles and tried to push the offensive feet away from his face. John giggled again, before saying sorry. Not that he sounded like he was sorry. In John’s fit of giggles, the foot had returned. “John!”

“Alright! Alright! I’m sorry. It’s not my fault you’ve got such a big head!” John said as he looked down at his mate, who grumbled some curses as he hit John’s feet with a pillow.

“I do not have a big head!” he grumbled back, making John laugh even more.

“You know, instead of being a big baby about it, you could just come over here with your gigantic head and sleep next to me,” he suggested and Paul looked down over his chest at John in surprise, biting his lip as he thought about it.

“Isn’t that a bit… _queer_ , though?” Paul asked carefully, blushing as he said it. John rolled his eyes at that and shook his head as he sat up, his head only just not scratching the Christmas lights above him.

“Don’t be silly. It’s just two friends sharing a bed like we do now. Nothing queer about it. Come over here, already!” he said, and Paul took a deep breath, before turning around and lying down beside his friend. His face turned to John’s, which was smiling back at him as he seemed to study his face.

“Hi,” Paul said awkwardly with a shy smile.

“Hi,” John replied before rolling onto his back and wrapping his hands behind his head as he stared up at the flower patterned sheet above him. Paul let out a deep breath that he hadn’t been aware he had been holding and kept looking at John, following all the lines of his handsome face with his eyes. Wait! Handsome?

“Can I ask you something?” John asked after a long moment of silence, his voice wavering slightly and sounding unsure. When he turned his head to look at Paul, the younger man nodded. “What was she like? Your mother?”

Paul sighed at the question, looking down at the little space between them as he chewed his bottom lip, memories of her flooding back into his mind at the mention of her name. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about her. He never did. It wasn’t like anyone would understand. It had been the most painful thing in Paul’s life and he still felt the pain every minute of every day to this day. Still, John had lost his father in a way. And even if he was still alive somewhere, he had been abandoned by him, so perhaps he would. If only slightly.

“She was…” Paul started, unsure how to start. “Like an… an angel, you know? She was a nurse and a midwife and she always took such good care of me and Mike when we were ill or had hurt ourselves. She was strict, but so loving as well. But she truly was an angel.” Paul smiled at the memory of his mother, smiling sadly and swallowing back a few tears that were fighting their way out of his eyes.

“I still remember seeing her go out late at night or in the rain or when it was snowing and most people would stay in. People would call her in the middle of the night and ask for advice and she would always be there for them. She never complained or turned away. Almost every week we would find something on our doorstep, a little present be it small or large, as a thank you for what she’d done. Everybody loved her and even after she stopped being a midwife, people still asked her for help. Whenever she came home early in the mornings after a long night, she would look exhausted, but she was never too exhausted for us. I-I still miss her every day.”

“I-I’m sorry, Paul,” John said, his voice cracking. Paul leaned up on his elbow and looked down at John with a frown, biting back his tears.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, and John blinked up at him a few times.

“It’s just… it must be tough, missing that. I mean, I never even really had my mother. I don’t even really remember much about my life before I went to live with Mimi. But you… it just sucks,” he explained, and Paul laid back down with a sigh, looking up at the flower pattern as well, not even realising it when John turned his head to study him.

“It’s hard. Still hurts every day, but you get used to it. It just feels like something is constantly missing. For Mike, it’s worse, you know.”

“I never heard you talk about this before,” John remarked, his voice unusually soft and gentle.

Paul blushed slightly as he shrugged. “I’d rather not. It’s not like people ever understand me, so what’s the point? Most people just get awkward about it and start finding me sad, which is the last thing I want, so why bother, you know?”

“Then why are you telling me?” John asked, and Paul turned his head to face him.

“I guess I just trust you,” he answered truthfully, and with that, John wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to him. Paul tensed up at the sudden touch and stared down at where John’s hand was touching him with wide eyes.

“Er… W-What are you doing?” he asked, looking back up and into John’s eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up even more as John looked back at him with a gentle smile.

“It’s called a hug, Macca, and I thought you could use one. Now, just take it. Touching is good,” he said, and Paul stared at him for a moment longer, before nodding and doing what John told him to. He relaxed against John and closed his eyes as he took a couple of deep breaths, taking in John’s familiar and comforting scent. The little moment was interrupted by the sound of the record turning off and Elvis’s voice disappearing, leaving the room completely quiet. Neither man moved to turn on another record.

“J-John?” Paul asked after a few moments of silence, John’s arm still wrapped around him, slowly making him more and more nervous. “D-Do you ever… you know… _feel things_? For m-men? T-that you know you shouldn’t feel?” Paul asked, stumbling over his words. He held his breath as he awaited John’s answer, feeling incredible nervous and not understanding why he had suddenly felt to need to ask his friend that question. But somewhere he did know. The question had been on his mind long before he had even met John and had first seen Elvis on the telly. It had started with a strange sensation in his belly and the more he had looked at the charming man on the telly, swaying his hips in such suggestive ways, the worse it had gotten. His hands had started to sweat and his heart had sped up in his chest as the tingling in his stomach travelled through his entire body. Soon, he had had to look away and leave the room to go to his own, finding himself hardening in his pants.

Something like that had never happened to him before. Not even when he had been listening to a record of his or seen him on a poster. Of course, he had seen that he was an attractive man, but who couldn’t? But since that moment, something had changed. He couldn’t even listen to the man’s voice without feeling those same things again. After a while he had realised it was only with Elvis, so he figured he wasn’t actually queer or anything, but then something else had happened. He had met John.

From the moment he had seen John on that stage, he had been unnaturally drawn to him, feeling some kind of connection. At first, he had thought it was just because he looked up at him and was impressed, but when Ivan introduced them after the gig at the church, he had felt those same feelings he felt when he listened to Elvis. Those same feelings he also felt when he looked at cute girls like Brigitte Bardot. It had been shocking and Paul had avoided John as much as possible since then, even going to camp with his brother, which he hadn’t even wanted to do anymore now he was fourteen. He had hoped it would have gone away when he returned, but it hadn’t and since then the feelings only had gotten worse.

Why he had asked the damn question, though, was a mystery. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know the answer. He feared the no and the look of disgust in his friend’s eyes, knowing then that perhaps he wasn’t normal. But what if John said yes?

John looked down at him with a frown on his face, and Paul braced himself for the devastating news that he would be indeed queer, but also that he would never have John. He wasn’t sure which of the two he found worse. But then, John’s face changed. His eyes softened and a little smile twitched on his lips, making Paul’s heart speed up in his chest.

“Now and then,” he whispered, as if he were telling Paul a secret no one was supposed to know, and Paul figured that was the case in a way.

“Like with Elvis?” Paul asked, and John nodded. “Is that… normal?”

“We’re all a little abnormal, aren’t we?” John said with a shrug, and Paul couldn’t help but smile at that as he looked up at his older friend, looking him straight in the eye as he felt his chest expand and his hands grow sweaty. It was only when John smiled back at him, tenderly and with sweet eyes, that Paul felt himself move. He found himself leaning forward to John, his eyes dropping to his lips, before moving back up to his eyes, where he saw them glass over. When the older man didn’t turn away, Paul found himself closing the gap between them, pressing his lips carefully against John’s and sighing against them as he finally touched him.

He was still young and inexperienced, only having kissed a few girls and never having really enjoyed it much, making the kiss itself plain and uncertain, but his heart was thumping hard in his chest, and his head was swimming at the feel of John’s rough, thin lips against his, feeling the blood pulse through them. When he heard John let out a little whelp of surprise, Paul realised just what he was doing and quickly pulled away from his friend, eyes wide and body shaking with fear and embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I don’t know what overcame me! I swear I didn’t-” Paul started, fearing John would be disgusted by him and throw him out, never wanting to see him ever again, but instead, the older man shushed him, lifting a hand to Paul’s cheek, and cupping it sweetly in his hand as he gently said Paul’s name.

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay, Macca,” he said, but when Paul only continued to panic, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Paul’s lips himself, making him freeze in shock and surprise, his apologetic words dying on his trembling lips as his eyes fell close at the sudden kiss.

“It’s okay,” John whispered against Paul’s lips and cocked his head to the side as he let his lips massage Paul’s, showing him slowly how to kiss and how to relax into it. When he finally pulled away, Paul was breathless and continued to stare at him in shock, before he fell into a fit of giggles and let his forehead rest against John’s chest.

“Happy birthday, Macca,” John whispered as he buried his nose in Paul’s hair and sniffed, taking in Paul’s scent and wrapping his arms fully around the younger man. They stayed like that for a while, until Paul looked up at him again, eyes full of love as he stared into John’s almond eyes, slowly becoming lost in them. He smiled as he leaned in for another kiss, happy John hadn’t turned him away and thrown him out. He melted into the older man and soon became lost in his kisses, learning how to kiss back more and more and becoming bolder and bolder, until John licked along his bottom lip and coaxed his mouth open, which Paul did without so much as a moment’s thought, moaning happily as John snaked his tongue into his mouth, before he giggled at the strange feeling.

“Is this my birthday present?” Paul asked when he pulled away to breathe, still giggling. John smiled up at him and raised his hand to push a hair out of Paul’s face as he nodded.

“Your first real birthday kiss,” he said with a cheeky wink and Paul giggled again, looking absolutely adorable with his flushed cheeks, that John found himself blushing as well.

“Can I have another one?” Paul asked, and John laughed along with him at that as he shook his head disapprovingly.

“Look who’s becoming cheeky,” he mused, but kissed Paul again anyway, not even caring he refused and sighing as Paul’s hands disappeared into his hair. When he managed to coax another moan from Paul’s throat, he rolled on top of the younger man, kissing him like he had wanted to from the moment he had set his eyes on the cute boy almost a year ago, hoping he was going to give Paul many more birthday kisses in elaborate pillow forts and much more. But all in good time. After all, he didn’t want to rush and ruin it. Not with Paul. Paul deserved more.

“Happy birthday, Macca,” John whispered with a chuckle as the clock struck twelve, but Paul quickly kissed him again, not giving him any more chances to talk. He had more important things to do.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was graciously imported from tumblr by [CJD](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com/) who is a good friend and overall pretty amazing. Suck it, Puck


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